The air inside the arena was thicker than usual.
The spectators, accustomed to watching Strax destroy opponents as if crushing empty shells, now watched him with a mixture of fascination and silent fear. With each round, the "Golden Dragon" became less human and more legend.
The blue runes on the floor lit up again, outlining the circle for the next fight. The light danced over the dried blood of previous fights.
Strax entered, his common sword strapped to his back—a blade that seemed far too modest in the hands of someone like him.
His golden gaze roamed the stands, mapping presences, sensing pulses of mana, trails of negative energy. The silent hunt he conducted between rounds kept him more alert than tired.
And then, the scribe announced:
"Next duel! Victor, the Golden Dragon… versus—"
But he didn't have time to finish.
The man was already inside the circle.
He had entered without permission, without ceremony, and without even glancing at the scribe.
